


The Prisoner's Song

by TellMeNoAgain



Series: Kitten Licks: The Side Stories from the Roaring Hot AU [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: CHECK THE ARCHIVE WARNINGS, Dubious consent blowjob, HOLY SHIT CHECK THE ARCHIVE WARNINGS, M/M, Not Beta’d: WE DIE LIKE MEN, SIDE STORY TO THE ROARING HOT SERIES LIKE SERIOUSLY Y'ALL READ THAT FIRST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:14:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22300900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TellMeNoAgain/pseuds/TellMeNoAgain
Summary: This is just a scene I had go through my mind while writing the ACTUAL STORY for Roaring Hot.I'm posting it because I like the way I wrote it.But you don't have to read it to read Roaring Hot and CHECK THEM WARNINGS, FOLKS~~~Mr. Stark did WHAT in the first fifteen minutes he met Harley?!  How's... how's that even WORK?!
Relationships: Harley Keener/Tony Stark, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Kitten Licks: The Side Stories from the Roaring Hot AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1605271
Comments: 14
Kudos: 77





	The Prisoner's Song

**Author's Note:**

> Last chance.
> 
> This is a SIDE STORY for the ACTUAL STORY of Roaring Hot. If you haven't read Roaring Hot, this is going to be a very confusing experience for you. Good luck, you crazy bastard.
> 
> Not beta'd because, y'all, I make them beta so hard on the actual stuff, I'm not going to waste their talent here.
> 
> READ. THE. WARNINGS.
> 
> If you've read darkfic before, proceed, mine is pretty tame so far (later chapters may get worse).
> 
> If you HAVEN'T read darkfic, let's have a quick chat about the genre. Darkfics are full of dubious consent, even abuse. There will be dubiously consentful sex, which you will be able to interpret either direction, your choice. There will be period-appropriate racism, sexism, all kinds of -ism. There will be prostitution and drugs and a bunch of violence, including strong corporal punishment and what is definitely physical abuse. Harley is underage, and that's awful. Darkfic is fun because it's not reality and it can let you have some nervous experiences without actually being endangered. Please proceed with your comfort level. You can email me at tellmenoagainplease@gmail.com if you want to check in about specific triggers.

The three lean men make the fat one nervous, obviously. It’s obvious, by the way he twitches and jerks every time one of them moves, by the way his eyes dart around the grounds in the early morning mist, by the way there’s sweat around his collar although the leaves and their lace shawls of frost rustle underfoot. They make him nervous, but he still leads them out to the shed, twitchy as it makes him to lead them.

The shed is in disrepair, built in the last century and clearly used hard until it outlived its use, allowed to sink into cluttered stagnation. On this morning, it holds something inside, or keeps someone out, because the fat man must rattle with the padlock and chains on the half-rotten doors.

“He’s in here,” grunts the fat man, ill-tempered in tone. “Couldn’t even keep him in the stables anymore, made the nags nervy.”

The scruffiest of the three well-dressed men turns to scowl at the mist weaving through the grounds, as it moves quickly to engulf the entire area in gray. He gauges the distance to the thick stone building, checks the windows to see if any are open. “S clear, Boss,” he says, his voice steady, as nondescript as his attire, as unemotional as his expression as he gives the report.

The fat man pulls open the door with a grunt and calls into the dimness, “You get down, you stupid fuck, you get down on that floor, you hear?”

There’s no movement. He squints, then spits, and announces, “He’s down already. Finally wised up, week too late.”

“Judge said,” mutters the blonde man, in a tone of distaste, peering over the fat one’s shoulder into the gloom, “was a dangerous man, not a half starved, half-killed kid.”

The fat man laughs bitterly. “You think he got that face blowing kisses? Fucking thing is rabid. Gotta be put down.”

The blonde man says, “Boss,” but stops when the third man holds up a hand with rings on it, glinting in the early morning light. He shuffles his feet and scowls at the door as the third man, the boss, ducks inside, and then he follows the boss with obvious reservations.

The scowling dark-haired man steps in front of the fat one, his back to the shed, and grunts, “You watching, or you want to be able to put hand to Bible you didn’t see nothing?”

The fat man wipes his forehead and says, “I’m gone. Good fucking riddance, there’s a carpet in the corner you can roll it up in, carry it out.”

The scowling man nods, cold eyes watching as the fat man ambles off muttering, quickly swallowed in the mist.

“Fuck, Boss,” says the blonde. “He even breathing now?”

The boss, with his rings glinting in a murky patch of light from one of the busted shed windows, taps one shiny shoe to a filthy, bloody shoulder. The figure on the floor shudders, and heaves itself up, onto its knees, spitting, “Who the fuck are you?” and swaying, just a bit.

“Hangman,” says the boss, crouching down so his head is even with the swaying body, tilting his head, watching. “Got any last requests?”

“Yeah, got a list, starts with a beer, ends with a blo-“ what the list might end with is cut short, by the crisp sound of a gun cocking.

The boss withdraws a pistol from under his jacket in steady hands, business end aimed between the eyes of the kneeling one. “Don’t much care for lists,” the boss informs him coldly.

“Ah,” says the kneeling figure. He licks his lips, making them bust open, new blood joining old, and says, “In that case, just the beer.”

The dark man at the door snorts, tossing a glance inside, wincing at the scene when his eyes adjust. He shifts his feet, glaring back out at the mist, and rolls his shoulders, preparing.

“Gonna stand,” mutters the kneeling one urgently, “Don’t cap me until I’m up. Die on my feet, anyway, won’t matter to you, you got the guns. I ain’t stupid enough to rush you.”

The boss stands swiftly, nods, and says, “I can let a man die on his feet, sure, kid."

The kid sucks in a breath, and pulls himself upright, swaying, hunching. He coughs, and then spits, away from the other men, wiping the blood from his lips across his unruined cheek with the back of a filthy, shaking hand.

“Boss,” says the blonde man again, teeth gritted.

“No, Cap,” says the boss, shortly. “I didn’t want you here, I said devils only, and you  _ pushed _ . Now you shut your trap and let me run it.”

The kid squints between the two of them and mumbles, “Appreciate if just you knock holes in me, mister, can’t stand to have a bellyacher do it.”

“Awful long request list already,” says the boss shortly. “Stop adding to it.”

The kid squares his jaw and says, “Gonna be short enough soon enough. Notice you ain’t brought any beer.”

The boss hisses a breath between his teeth and says, “Kid, I’d love to help you out, but I can’t even think of one reason why I should let you live these next fifteen minutes, much less the ride to the nearest gin joint. You think of any?”

“Oh,” says the kid, and then he giggles, the sound awful as it echoes through the shed, incongruous with the filth and the reality of what's happening. “Yeah, I got one,” he offers, and slowly drops back down to his knees, shuffling forward, hands outstretched, licking his lips.

“Fuck,” says the blonde, Cap, “Stark, you can’t-”

“I said  _ shut yer trap _ , Cap,” orders the boss, watching the kid, resting the gun against the kid’s temple as the kid fumbles at the front of his pants. “I didn’t  _ want you here _ . You always gotta  _ push _ .”

The kid giggles and mutters, “ _ Nobody _ wants him here. What a  _ stuffed shirt _ .”

There’s silence then, except for a single grunt from the boss and the wet noises the kid makes after he figures out the buttons. Cap swallows, and looks to the door. The man in the door hunches his shoulders like he can feel that look, and glances back, taking in the scene and wincing again, shaking his head in disbelief.

“What’s taking so long?” says a voice from out of the mists, as the fat man appears in the space just in front of the shed. “Gotta get you gone before the house wakes u-” There’s a meaty thunk, and then two more, and then a groan, as the scowling man surges into motion on the edge of the mist. Cap rushes to take the darker man’s spot in the doorway and the boss shoves the kid off, whirling with his gun pointed at the door.

“Got him,” says the scruffier man tersely, panting for a second. There’s a few more meaty thunks, and then silence, and birdsong.

The boss turns back, a swirl of blurred motion. He grabs the kid by his hair, and hauls him up with one hand, gun pressed under the kid’s chin with the other. The kid’s hands come up, fingers splayed, as he gasps, “I’ll finish you off, mister, but you better kick him in the head so he don’t remember anything.”

There’s absolute silence in the shed for a moment, and then the boss chuckles, shaking his head, and uncocks the gun. There’s a snort from outside, and a matching chuckle from the darker man. The boss throws back his head and laughs, and when he’s done, he reholsters the gun. He shakes the kid a little, using his grip on the kid’s hair, and tells him, “Shit. Bucky knows his job better than  _ you _ .”

“Bet I could learn it,” bargains the kid quickly.

“Bet you could,” agrees the boss. “Finish this job, first, and we’ll see about the next one.”

The blond man makes a disapproving noise, and the boss says, “You shut it, Cap, I mean it,” as he releases the kid’s hair and guides the kid’s head back with a hand along the kid’s jaw. “I didn’t  _ ask _ you to come along.”

The scowling man stands up from the fat man’s body and walks back to stand next to the blond man a few steps in front of the doorway, pressing his arm to the other man’s arm, blocking their bodies together. They look out into the mist as he murmurs slowly, “I told you this wasn’t for you,” over the wet noises coming from inside the shed and the occasional grunt from the boss. “I told you, you wouldn’t like it. Wish you’d stay on the other side of the Empire. Wish you wouldn’t, wouldn’t get your hands dirty with this.”

“Ain’t right for me, ain’t right for you,” mutters the blonde man, leaning against the darker man and glaring at the mist.

“That ain’t true, and you know it,” the scowling man says tersely. “It’s been a sweet gig this past year, and you ain’t had any problems doing the daylight work.”

“Ain’t right,” mutters the blond man, jaw clenched.

“No, it ain’t,” agrees the scowling man. “So stay in the damn trench, Captain.”

The blond man’s breathing comes harshly, but there’s a groan and a giggle from inside the shed that make him shudder, and give a short, concessionary nod. The darker man nods once in acknowledgement and then snorts as his eyes narrow at the mists.

“Fuck,” says the boss breathlessly from inside, and both men turn slightly to listen. “Okay, he’s with us. Always wanted a wild animal to tame. You walk, kid?”

“Fuck, mister,” giggles the kid. “You see my feet? Can barely stand, mister.” He moans, then, and drops back onto his heels, rubbing his mouth.

“You sick that up, I’m going to have words with you,” the boss tells him, lips twitching. The kid shakes his head, jaw clenching.

“Got the carpet,” says the scowling man bluntly. “Roll him up in that, drag him.”

“I like it,” says the boss brightly. “Symmetry or something. Nice and tidy. He gonna live?” he asks, nodding at the body of the fat man.

“Yeah, probably, they find him soon enough,” says the other man. “And they will, place is gonna be crawling with people soon enough. Steve and me can drag him out towards the courtyard some.”

“You-” and the boss snorts a laugh, glancing at the kid- “you kick him in the head so’s he don’t remember anything, Bucky?”

“Please,” says the scowling man,  _ Bucky _ , sounding pained. “Don’t teach gramma to suck eggs, Boss.”

“Sorry, had to-” he chuckles, “-had to check.  _ Fuck _ , kid.”

The kid giggles again, and then says, “Carpet sounds, sounds nice. S’cold.”

“Yeah, I bet,” comments the boss. “Steve, that jacket looks cheap, give it to the kid?”

Steve slips out of his jacket and wraps it around the kid’s shoulders. The kid tips his head back and offers, “Say, you’re all right.” Steve winces, and then catches the kid, propping him up with a gentle hand, as Bucky lays the carpet down on the ground by the fat man’s body and says, “Help me roll him.”

The boss and Bucky roll the fat man onto the carpet and drag him further out into the grounds, dumping him in the spot Bucky says is most likely to be found quickest. They double-time back to the shed, Bucky muttering blackly about jobs gone sideways and the boss chuckling to himself.

“You got a name, kid?” asks the boss as Bucky lays the carpet in front of the kid. There’s fresh blood on it, from the fat man, but no one offers to wash it off first.

“Harley. Harley Keener,” answers the kid, pulling away from Steve’s hand, chin lifting in defiance.

“Lay down, Harley Keener,” says the boss. “You’re done here. Taking you home, you’re mine now.”

“Owe me a beer,” Harley warns him, pitching forward onto the carpet.

The boss chuckles and says, “Yeah, might could figure how to get you one, too.”

Bucky and Steve share looks of disbelief as they roll the kid as gently as possible in the carpet and stand, lifting it between them. The kid whimpers a little, which, given his condition, is not unexpected, and the boss waves at them to follow him back to the truck parked just outside the main gate. He whistles a little, as he walks, quiet and cheerful, and Bucky and Steve both shake their heads, following behind him, carpet stretched between them, their footsteps rustling the last of the autumn leaves. None of the three looks back as the mists swirl in, hiding the shed from sight. The only sound until the thump of the carpet hitting the truck bed floor, the rattle of doors, the rumble of the engine, is the sound of the boss's whistle, bright and cheerful as the sun begins to burn through the mist and lighten the sky, readying it for the new day.

**Author's Note:**

> So, these stories are just scenes that I can't fit into the regular series (OBVIOUSLY, YOU READ THIS ONE, IT REALLY DOESN'T FIT), but that bugged me until I actually wrote it out. I am seriously hoping none of them spawns more chapters or more stories, because I HAVE STORIES I AM WRITING.
> 
> So my usual, "Please come give me ideas" really, just, god. Don't. I have too many already, none of these can be expanded more or I'll stop having time in my day to eat. And I like food.


End file.
